Through the Eyes of the Serpent
by Neurotic Horcrux
Summary: I never intended to buy myself a ticket to death, I value my life as much as Voldemort values his; and I certainly did not ask to wake up in Pansy Parkinson's body, I was content with being a muggle. Shameless self-insertion
1. Prologue

'You have a beautiful daughter, Lady Parkinson.'

What? My mind screamed in confusion. I blinked, lifting the black veil before my eyes, and before them was an obnoxious image of a woman's face; her horse-like long face grim and disagreeable, her ice blue eyes were distant and frigid, her glance was filled with dismay and hostility as if I was the most appalling thing she had ever seen. Needless to say, it was the friendliest and the most welcoming sight I have ever seen in my life. Before I could help it, an unfamiliar, thin wailing sound was ripped out of my throat as I tried to take in a deep breath. It horrified me that I was unable to stop the infant-like noise I was making or the endless streams of tears (which had not been out of my eyes for the past 15 years) flooding down my face. Then I came to a horrid realization.

I was an infant.

A woman trapped in the body of a baby.

I squirmed in the arms of someone I supposed was a nurse lifting me up, when I attempted to slap my face for a check of reality, I was terrified to find them immobilized by an invisible, but forceful and firm grip. And they bathed me in warm water, cleansing me of blood and excretions, I lost it when they dipped my head into the water, which suddenly turned into raw and intense cold water. I screamed, struggling against the invisible bonds that was binding my limbs as I recall the glacial water that froze my past eternally after my futile struggles for survival.

When they eventually saw fit to end my torture, I was sent back to the arms of the dark-haired woman who apparently was still not fond of me, standing next to us was a willowy, lanky man, whose black eyes held nothing but disdain and disappointment when he looked at me. They were talking to each other, in mere low mumbles that even with the sharpened auditory senses of an infant, I was not able to make out most of the words they said. But I did catch a few words like 'heir', 'pureblood', and they called me 'Pansy'.

Lady Parkinson.

Pansy.

Pansy Parkinson, like _the Pansy Parkinson_ in Harry Potter, who was known for obsessing with Draco Malfoy.

The rational part of me cried in vehement protest of coming into this illogical and unscientific conclusion, but no other reasons would explain the invisible bonds that held me in place when they were bathing me. Naturally, I did all I could as an infant who could not even make a coherent phrase: wailing on top of my lungs, until the unpleasant man, my father, shut me up with a lazy wave of a thin log - his _wand_, by turning my cries inaudible even to my own ears. I was both fascinated and terrified by this real, genuine display of magic. As any other Harry Potter fan, I have had this wild childhood dream of being a part of the Harry Potter world, but now I was scared, scared of the abhorrent things that they would do to me if they discovered the muggle soul being hosted by the body of a pureblood, the muggle soul who knew too much.


	2. Chapter 1 Naivety

The same pair of frigid blue eyes which I had grown quite familiar with bored into my own, scrutinizing, riffling through my brain cells inside out. I prayed to whoever with a tiny bit of mercy to answer my prayers, for the first time after the church shut the doors on me years ago, begging to be spared of the horrible consequences awaiting me if the cold and cynical woman I call mother found out the truth about me.

She frowned.

I held my breath, preparing for the worst; blood pumping up my ears, rapidly paced but strong, as my cardiac muscles once again, acted on my will of living.

**_..._**

I was brought from St. Mungos the same day Pansy Parkinson was born,

April 20, 1980

91 years after the birth of the birth of the notorious Adolf Hitler, which indirectly led to the death of thousands of millions of innocent people.

And of course, two decades before my own demise.

In the rural castle of the Parkinson family, I finally realized the reason why most people's early childhood memories remained nothing but blurred, faint images entombed too profoundly in their heads to resurface again for ignorance was often bliss. My parents brought their exchange of mind games and their mutual hostility to the nursery, the nannies exchanged rumors and gossips among themselves, and the house guests bribed each other under the guise of friendly smiles and flattery. I heard that the Death Eaters (which I suspected were among the guests) had killed the last male heirs of the Prewett family on my first birthday party, I heard about their pathetic plots to assassin Dumbledore for Voldemort's favor, I heard all their political ploys whilst they were ignorant enough to think that babies were toned deaf to their words.

Six months after my first birthday, I witnessed their apprehension as panic spread through the fellow pureblood extremists that they might fall from grace, and for the first time, my parents looked mortal through and through; as vulnerable as any of us commoners (which I used to be) without their haloes of power. Being able to glimpse into the life of the rich and powerful induced a newfound sense of power, and satisfying my own adolescent mischievousness which still existed in a part of me, it almost took me through an ego trip until I realized that I was being too cocky for my role as a tamed and sweet-tempered child.

As Pansy -, as I began to age, I came to the awakening of the price of 'pureblood privilege' when my parents began to mode their 'Pansy' into a proper pureblood lady. I used to sneer at the 'anguished miseries' of the mayor's suicidal self-harming daughter over the news, laughing at how she brought it all upon herself, thinking that her grievances were unfounded as she was living the life that I would _die_ to trade mine for.

Ironically, I did die for it.

Living my 'dream life' was certainly not a piece of cake as I used to think. The tendency to never stop wanting more in human's nature was acting out again, because once you've got all the luxuries that you craved, you would take everything for granted and think of them as something as dull and as ordinary as a plain pencil among the other stationaries with flamboyant designs on the shelf. At the point when I started to struggle with my acting skills, which were failing flat even in my eyes and lingering on the edge between terribly unconvincing and preposterous, I decided that I missed something that I used to dismiss and perceive as a basic right of mine; I was a free-spirit, now and then, I could almost relate to how the mayor's daughter in terms of feeling like a square peg in a round butt hole, and I wanted my own family who raised me to be myself, not this distant, defective one that I was stuck with. I cursed my pride and toughness-act that I needed a second life time to learn that home was where the people you love were.

I found myself disagreeing with most of the teachings that my parents, or the tutors that they hired, offered to me. I was more than eager to learn magic but the challenge it post was yet another 'reality check' of the apparent unreality that I was living in since I never expected even the baby steps of mastering magic to be such strenuous work as I could recite all the spells mentioned in the book and the movie. It was their one-dimensional, conceited insights of the world that I could not stand, they clashed horribly with the ones that I've spent a life time to build, the ones that were a fundamental part of my personality.

My disagreements of the pureblood extremist views were usually kept to myself, with the exceptions being my mumbling and whining to the house-elf Misty when no one else were present. But I let it slipped that I was a potential 'blood-traitor' on Draco Malfoy's birthday feast when Lucius Malfoy was introducing his glorious and blood-stained family history of murdering muggle neighbors for land.

'They are depraved murderers.' I commented before I could stop myself.

All eyes were shifted on me at once, eyes filled with blatant and unmasked shock, disgust, and displeasure of all sorts. My blood turned into ice and I froze on the spot, I heard mother apologizing to Lucius on my behalf, everything was happening so fast that I could recall almost nothing before I somehow found myself back 'home' with mother.

A look of repulsion and pique flashed across her face as mother looked down at me, but the rare facial expression she made was so briefly that it almost seemed non-existent with her expertize at the art of the minds.

'Pansy, I thought we've taught you better than to shame our family in front of the others, especially not the Malfoys,' Mother stated coldly, but I could tell her embarrassment, her disappointment at me through the little emotion that she still retained, 'you will abandon your blood-traitor ways wherever you get them from.'

I was petrified once again when mother took me in the eyes. I was in fear that she was able to gain access to the secrets withheld in my soul.

But it didn't happen; instead, she frowned with shock and perhaps dismay. 'I will tell Pascal to fix you himself,' she said coldly, averting her glance to the grandfather clock that had never moved one bit as long as I could remember. 'Afterall, you are the result of his incompetence.'

And she left in a rash, a picture of poise as she glided out of my sight, leaving only the sounds of heavy fabric sweeping across the floor and the looming weights of her harsh words.

Father wasn't home often, I knew him by reputation as a ruthless Death Eater and an effective politician who used his ties with the unconventional Greengrass family to escape Azkaban. He looked disappointed at me, but surprisingly he did not punish me harshly, except being made to attend father's 'Muggle Studies' lessons which was zeroed in screaming out the flaws of my 'blood-traitor ways', and hearing about how muggles were all feebleminded fools who took joy in killing off witches and wizards.

'Pansy, you're too young to understand the ways of the world.' Father would sigh between long lectures on how-to-be-a-Nazi-wizard, 'Muggles and mudbloods are the depraved animals, only muggle sympathizers like Dumbledore would disagree that they are actively trying to destroy us.'

It was mother who thought my 'childhood naivety' an unredeemable crime, I didn't exactly remember what happened; there was arguing and a few Hogwarts levelled spell slashing through the air, all I knew was mother being backed into a corner screaming and father relented, a few minutes later Harky, the family's oldest house elf pulled me into a basement like chamber. The servants quarter that once housed goblin and muggle servants.

I screamed and scratched on the dust layered floor, ruining my manicured nails with filth, out of frustration at myself and pent-up distress at getting stuck as a caged bird, as if dying a traumatising death wasn't enough. It wasn't until my throat couldn't make any sound and my numb fingers were coated in my own blood that I laid exhausted on the floor and slowly slipping back into consciousness.

It was a foolish and impulsive act indeed, to draw attention onto myself when I was trying to be as invisible as possible and undeniably irresponsible for the role I was playing. Being responsible to my own family was something that I never learnt, I was among the lucky ones who never had much obligations to comply with, and never cared enough to; but I figured that I should find a way to play a more convincing Pansy without defying my own morals as I was stuck with the Parkinsons whether I liked it or not.

I didn't know how much time had passed when Misty came collected my limp form off the filthy ground of the old servants' quarter, but I was too weak by then, at least emotionally, to bear the will to fight the restrains as I was bathed in ice-cold water that brought back too much of my ghastlier memories for my own comfort.

After the little outburst, I was more careful with words, but it didn't help that I am already labeled as a blood-traitor, nor the fact that people would use it to smear the name of Parkinson family. I learned from my parents and my observations as an infant that the other purebloods would never forgot the wrongs that you do for the chance to disadvantage you in the future.

The damage I did by failing to live up to the image of a traditional pureblood witch is set in stone, and I feared that it was only the beginning of the consequences.


	3. Chapter 2 The Other Black

Perhaps as a result of my open defiance of pureblood elitism, my lessons continued even after the Parkinsons were convinced that I had long abandoned my 'delusions', and by the time I was 7, they began taking my political education seriously. More than often, I found myself in father's study, a small, compacted medieval styled room with a touch of wizarding modernity - the numerous steel-wares on his desk that give out green fumes of steam every twenty minutes, the rapid typing and whirling sounds of the large black mailbox that reminded me of a computer's system unit which my eyes occasionally lingered to between pages of biased articles about the Purists' Movement and their role in the 'degenerating wizarding society' that somehow got published in reputable journals.

Few people thought that he was sane when he began taking me to Wizengamot hearings, where I learnt that British wizards could not spell 'trias politica' for all their obsession with pseudo-Latin; introducing a girl to the political scene that early was rare, even as I would be made the heiress if there were no direct male relatives that apparated out of nowhere when I turn 17.

'… just like Cygnus… remember how his eldest daughter turned out?' I overheard the whispers of a few strange men behind the azure curtains, who were familiar enough for me to recognise them as members of the Movement.

They seemed to be more aware of their surroundings at father's party than around my 'one-year-old' self, speaking in Latin with hushed voice, but my father's political lessons ensured that I knew enough Latin. My body involuntarily inched closer to the wall, but my eyes remained glued to the floral decorations on the wall, pretending to be interested in them.

'How do you know that he wouldn't give in and name the Malfoy boy his son?'

'Pascal is too stubborn to fathom that even his daughter cannot replace a male heir.'

Pascal's heir.

They weren't talking about the Black family at all.

I didn't know why I would be surprised that I would be the subject of discussion at my own family's summer resort in Sestri Levante, or that some of their schemes and plots would eventually revolve around me. It wasn't until then that I became conscious that most people in the Movement were bothered by my presence at the Wizengamot, because even as I was apparently as blue blooded as they were, they could still find fault with my birth. They mentioned Bellatrix, who was the eldest daughter of Cygnus, it dawned on me that she was also raised to defy convention, a weapon to threaten the birth-right of Orion's sons; I imagined that it must've caused an uproar at the prime of pureblood supremacy when Voldemort was still in power.

It was little wonder how Bellatrix went insane.

'All the more easy for the Burtes' bastard –'

Before I could stop myself, I gasped involuntarily, my hand flew to cover my mouth to muffle the sound a second too late. They've already heard it. I cursed that none of my tutors thought to teach me a simple Disillusionment Charm (not that I could cast it without a wand) and decided on the only option I had to avoid some more awkward conversations: turn my heel and bolt.

Hopefully I was quick enough in my heels and long gown that they couldn't recognise me from behind.

I found myself colliding with something – someone to be exact, I staggered back, stepping on the hem of my long gown and fell on my ass, wincing at the sound of the expensive material tearing. Mother was definitely going to throw a fit.

The air shrivelled and a man – judging by the body frame of the figure – materialised before me. He was towering even if I were not on the floor, he dressed in plain grey robes unlike every other wizards and witches, making him more impressionable than the plethora of fashionable 'nobles' I've met. By conventional standards, he was a handsome man in his middle age; his rich dark hair was pulled into a low ponytail, his define features were arranged into an unusually solemn expression that hardly shifted when his heavily lidded eyes fell upon me.

I immediately knew that he was not a Legilimens like mother when I met his grey eyes, but I couldn't shake the feeling that he was scrutinizing me just the same.

...

Draco never quite forgave me for ruining his birthday party and his distorted perfect little world under the shelter of his upbringing. He was not one for subtlety when it came to his dislike of me, his eyes narrowing and lips curling into a sneer like a dismayed kneazle whenever I got too close on social occasions.

'Blood traitor,' he accused in his soft childish murmur as I bowed dutifully under the watchful eyes of Artemesia Parkinson who was dancing with Lucius not far away.

'Father said that you are a muggle-love – I mean, sym… symph-'

He extended a hand unwillingly, pouting at the direction of a smiling Narcissa as we moved towards the dance floor. It did help my nervousness with balls that mother insisted on me wearing more mature dress robes covering my ankles like the older witches, after all the galleons spent on my dance instructor, my musicality was still lacking; despite Draco being an adept dancer for his age, under the long fabric of my dress, my steps were clumsy and all over the place.

'Muggle sympathiser, you mean.' I chuckled at Draco fidgeting on words he had just been taught, wondering if his father also told him that we were betrothed at birth. 'You impress me with your… extraordinary memory, little Draco, but you don't seem to remember that I'm no longer five.'

I could almost feel mother's disapproving glance and father's heaps of lectures coming.

('Pansy, a respectable pureblood lady doesn't make a fool of a gentleman.')

Draco narrowed his eyes in his best imitation of his father's scornful sneer, but his pale cheeks were laced with a faint blush of embarrassment. 'Yes, you are,' he said fighting back a grin when he settled on the best insult, 'and you're going to marry the Weasels and live in the dumpster with too many babies.'

He seemed proud of himself as his sneer dissolved and his eyes betrayed his glee. I struggled my urge to break the news of our betrothal to him just for the sake of his despair; it would be a pleasure to torment him, to further destroy his perfect and innocent pureblood world with the knowledge that his life would never be his own until Harry Potter vanquished the Dark Lord. But I held back because I of anyone, should know that everything would leave an impact, no matter how insignificant my actions seemed.

The dance ended just in time for me hide my snort as I curtsied to Draco, neither of us want another awkward dance, which would inevitably end up with either of us trying to provoke each other for different reasons. Gladly relieved of his duty, Draco ran across the dance floor to Theodore, who was as graceless on the dance floor as I was, he looked lost and out of place pacing on the edge of the dance floor, at least until he was joined by my betrothed.

After turning down two grown men who wanted to dance with me, I tried blending in with a few witches that were chatting about something about a high-end dress robe designer from Italy, only to find that there was no escape from being the centre of attention at my own father's party.

'You must be Mr. Parkinson's daughter.' I found myself staring into a pair of thin purple-painted lips spreading into the most disgusting fake smile I've ever seen, resembling a character in Monster Inc.; she was the only person in the room older than 5 who had a black velvet bow in her mousy brown hair, and she wore a skin-tight charmeuse pink gown that made her looked like a pale toad wrapped in a towel. 'She is such a precious little girl, isn't she,' the woman gushed to the other witches who nodded politely.

Dolores Umbridge looked at me like a paedophile staring at her prey.

I grimaced under the woman's glance, a shiver of disgust travelled down my spine when her fat hands clasped around mine, but I mimicked Umbridge's smile deliberately despite, or perhaps, due to my discomfort.

'Do you know what we are celebrating, sweetie?'

I tried not to feel offended that she asked me something even a trained mountain troll could give a perfect answer to. 'My father won a seat in the Wizengoment, madam.'

'Such an intelligent and talented young pureblood lady! I heard you play the piano earlier, dear. Your father must be very proud of you.'

'Thank you, madam, I am feeling unwell, I'm sorry... I really must go.'

'Don't forget to tell your father that I called my whole department to vote for him – it's Dolores! Dolores Um-' Her smile faltered when she realised that I wasn't one to play the-gullible-sweet-girl game with her, so did her sugary voice as she called after me. By then I've already turned around, pretending not to hear a word of her 'undignified cries' that were lost in the background of music and chattering.

...

'If it isn't Pascal's infamous prodigious daughter.'

I could barely susprass a groan as I ignored the man's extended hand and picked myself up. 'I don't think prodigy is the right word, sir, it takes away all the hard work I've done.'

To my surprise, he didn't look offended at all, a small smile of amusement tugged at the corner of his lips. 'The Department of Mystery could use someone both talented and hard-working, better start planning your future early if you don't want to waste your talents on tea parties with obnoxious old ladies.'

'You're an Unspeakable?'

'Aye – I haven't introduced myself yet, I'm Cepheus Black.'

I didn't know that there was another male member of the Black family who was still alive, it made no sense that Sirius could remain the head of House Black in Azkaban when there was another apparently more suitable candidate. And as I recalled from the list of influential wizarding families father made me memorize, there were no living Cepheus Blacks.

Unless he was an illegitimate son or a fraud after the Blacks' wealth.

'Didn't know _you_ would show up, Cassiopeia.' Father's voice startled both of us.

'I haven't been "Cassiopeia" for a long time,' The man said calmly. 'I don't remember you being that forgetful when we were at Hogwarts.'

'It doesn't change anything.' Father sneered at him. 'We both know that the old coot nearly disowned you. Did he leave you a Knut when he died? Even the muggle _male_ the blood traitor left you for knew that you were an abomination.'

'You are one to talk Pascal… look at what your agendas have cost you in the First War, beware you don't lose more than you can win this time.'

Father looked like he was about to murder someone, his hands were twitching to reach for his wand when there was a loud crack and Misty appeared out of the thin air. The young house elf looked distressed by tension in the scene she was summoned to, her bulging green eyes darting helplessly between the two men.

'Take my daughter to her room,' he ordered the house elf. 'Miss Black and I have some… business to settle.'

* * *

**Author's Note:** I've decided to introduce some OCs earlier and to include more of fake Pansy's childhood in the Parkinson household. As you probably noticed, I have taken down the two chapters after this and I will edit them before the 'real' update.

Although wizarding politics will mostly likely be in the background, it is still mentioned sometimes and I've yet to come up with a name for the party that supports muggle rights/Dumbledore (preferably something that does NOT have 'Phoenix' in it). Can you please help me with it? And if you want to, feel free to suggest another name for the Purists' Movement, I originally opted for something that comes along with a catchy nickname like the Tories, but my brain sucks more than the Fantasy Name Generator.


	4. I'm still going to update

I'm sorry for not uploading the new chapter, there's a lot of things that happened in the past month including new part-time jobs and broken laptop, I've also been sick for a while. I promise I will update more frequently when I get better.


End file.
